


The cure to all problems

by supertoastyqunari



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-09 02:07:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5521481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supertoastyqunari/pseuds/supertoastyqunari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anders is a doctor. Four times Hawke visits him officially, and one time unofficially.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The cure to all problems

**Author's Note:**

> Written as part of the DA Secret Santa for tumblr user handerstrash. The prompt was theirs!

Anders is a doctor. The elderly people love him, perhaps because he knows they want to talk and tell him about their day, and he always listens patiently. He jokes with them, engages in the conversation. Perhaps they just like to see a young face. 

Anders gets well along with all age groups, honestly. He doesn’t judge people’s injuries, just treats them. People seem to like that, even if some go to extreme ways to explain how they got their injuries. Hawke is one of those people. They like to always tell the story behind their injuries to Anders, for some reason.

  **  
**

The first time Anders meets Hawke, they limp their way to him. Hawke has called before, explaining their injury, and booked a time. 

“You are Hawke, I presume?” Anders asks and gestures them to sit. Hawke does so with a nod. Anders notices they are in quite good mood. It’s good. It’s easier to communicate with patients who are in good mood. 

“Yep, that’s me. I think I sprained my ankle or something,” they say, and chuckle a bit. 

“Well, we’ll take a look at it. Did you trip and put your weight on it, or..?” Anders asks, waiting that Hawke would uncover his ankle.

“Oh, yes, well, kind of,” Hawke laughs, and scratches the back of their head. “You know how the bar nights are. A bit of dancing, drinking, dancing on the table, _pretending to be a dragon_ , dancing…”

“Well it seems this dragon fell down quite hard,” Anders comments, examining the uncovered leg. It does look quite hurt. 

“Oh yes. Malfunctioning wings. Or--,” Hawke explains, and then suddenly snorts a bit. “Or then the wind _blew_ too _hard_.”

Anders conceals his little smile, trying to remain professional. What a crude joke! It seems Hawke is in good spirits indeed.

When Hawke has been treated, Anders does not expect to see them again. It is a pity. They have a great sense of humour. 

 

 

The second time he meets Hawke, they walk to his room with a rather limp looking arm. It’s been barely two weeks from when they last saw.

“Well, I can see a malfunction on the dragon’s wing this time,” Anders jokes as Hawke greets him eagerly. He can’t deny that he had been quite surprised when he had gotten to know that they would be visiting again. 

“Oh, yes, well. This time I wasn’t doing that. Funny that you remembered,” Hawke laughs, and sits down. “My arm is fine, though. I just keep it like this because I, um, I think I broke my fingers.”

“You broke your fingers?” Anders asks, raising an eyebrow. It’s not that unusual, but since last time there had been quite a story behind the injury, he is partly expecting one to be behind this one too.

“Yes, well, you see, I was taking out the trash with my friend. Her name is Merrill. And then she wanted to hear my parrot impression. I had told Merrill I can do the best parrot impression there ever is, you see. So to help the image, I decided to stand on the edge of the metal trash bin. It’s one of those big ones, you know, with a heavy lid,” Hawke explains, gesturing wildly with his other arm. “So I stood there, and as I was making my parrot impression, I kind of slipped and took hold from the bin. From the side, you know. And that’s when the previously mentioned heavy lid fell. On my fingers.”

Anders grimaces a bit, though the mental image is quite hilarious. Broken fingers are not. 

“Well, that does sound quite serious. Let’s have a look at your fingers,” he says with a shake of his head. What a tale! It is unbelievable that someone like Hawke exists.

“If you insist,” Hawke replies, and laughs a bit. And shows his fingers.

 

 

Unfortunately (or fortunately?), Anders sees the familiar form of Hawke the very next day, holding their bloody jaw and looking quite in shock. They wave to him quite enthusiastically. It seems much more serious than what the call had implied. This time with them is a rather worried, short man.

“Varric Tethras, a friend of this unfortunate mess,” the man introduces himself, and points to Hawke. “I called before?”

Anders nods, gesturing once more Hawke to sit down. He had gotten a call, something about there having been an accident that involved a trampoline. He had wondered who used a trampoline during winter. He should have known the person would be the same who pretended to be a dragon or did parrot impressions on a trash bin.

“What happened?” Anders asks, starting to gently inspect Hawke’s jaw and mouth. It seems to have become quite a mess.

“Well, it’s quite a story, doctor. It involves a balcony, a trampoline and lots of imagination,” Varric starts. Hawke smiles, but then grimaces. It seems to hurt.

“Oh dear,” Anders sighs and nods for Varric to continue.

"Hawke jumped from the balcony to the trampoline to show exactly how high they could jump if they just had the gravity on their side. Hawke was going to defy gravity with gravity’s help, so to say,” Varric explains, giving a bit of an amused gaze to Hawke. “You are such a troublemaker.”

Hawke lets out some protesting noises, but Anders hushes them. He is still inspecting.

“I saw the right knee hit his jaw, and suddenly there was blood everywhere,” Varric tells his tale to end. “I called immediately here and dragged Hawke to my car.”

“Wise decision. His ankle shouldn’t have healed yet even. This’ll need some fixing,” Anders mutters. What a strange man. “Hawke seems to like flying.”

“You bet, doc, you bet,” Varric sighs. Hawke looks strangely proud of himself.

 

 

The fourth time Anders meets Hawke, he almost buries his face to his hands. It’s been a month since they last saw, but there they come again.

“Hey! Guess what? I ran into a brick wall!” Hawke greets him happily, showing the place where a tooth has fallen off. Anders sighs.

“What did you do this time?” he asks, starting to get worried for Hawke’s health. Getting in such short time hurt all the time is not a very good sign.

“I was going to jump over it. You know, run to it and then jump coolly over it like in all those action movies.”

“But instead you ran into it?”

“Yeap,” Hawke agrees with a brilliant smile. “My nose hurts a lot.”

“You’ve hurt yourself quite a lot this year,” Anders starts, frowning. He tries to say it kind of carelessly. He is worried. He better have a look at that nose.

“Oh, yes. I guess it’s because I have more free time. I quit my job a month or so and have been trying to find a new one ever since,” Hawke explains, their expression for while turning more serious. It seems to Anders that they don’t have good memories of that workplace.

“You should be more careful. It’s soon Christmas. Your family must want you celebrating with them in one piece,” he reminds Hawke.

“Oh. I guess you are right. I’ll do my best, I promise,” his patient promises with a rather silly smile. It seems to rather promise that Hawke would do something stupid again.

“Have a wonderful Christmas with your family too!” Hawke wishes to him before they leave. Anders only smiles and nods.

He has always spent his Christmas here, doing work. He doesn’t have a family to spend it with. 

Perhaps if he got a cat, he could spend the Christmas with it.

 

 

It is the Christmas Eve, and Anders is closing down the clinic. His work for today is done. He stops for a while to admire the snowflakes falling from the sky. Against the darkness of the sky, they are beautiful.

Then he realises someone is approaching. Someone, who looks very much like Hawke. Their face is starting to bruise. They look beaten up.

“Hawke?” Anders asks, frowning. 

“I swear it was not my fault this time!” Hawke starts, and looks then to the clinic. “Oh. You are closing. Mm. Well. I should’ve called anyways.”

Anders shakes his head and gestures towards the clinic. He opens the door once more and takes Hawke to the nearest office. 

 

“Let me check your injuries quickly. Did you take part in a bar-fight or what? Or did your…?” he starts his inquiry, but shuts up then. He should be more subtle about asking whether Hawke’s family did this.

“Oh, no, no,” Hawke laughs. It is a relief to Anders. “I had to go buy more potatoes. There were some violent dudes there, fighting it out. Or rather, the other one was beating the other really badly. So I stepped in-between. I mean, have you seen my arm muscles? Surely I could take them on!”

Anders glances at Hawke’s arms. Surely, there is something there, but whether that equals to winning a fistfight is rather unclear to him.

“Well, he beat me up. And stole my potatoes!” Hawke continues, and shakes his head. “I beat him up too, though. The other guy escaped. I was supposed to call you from there, but then I thought I might as well just walk here.”

“Just as I was closing. Lucky you,” Anders comments, bringing some ice for that bruising.

“Lucky me indeed! Other doctors might have not admitted me in anymore,” Hawke says with a wide smile. Their eyes scan the room, stopping at an object hanging from the ceiling. “Since when did your office have a mistletoe, though? Do you kiss your patients better nowadays?”

Anders laughs.

“We are not in my office, actually. It’s not the nearest one, you know,” he comments. “This is my colleague's. She put it up there, because her husband visited. A nice little surprise for him.”

Hawke stares at the mistletoe, their legs swinging up and down as they let Anders inspect their face.

“Unfortunate. Here I thought already that you would have a magical kiss that would make all your patients better,” they say lightly, with a little smile.

“I am afraid I do not kiss my patients during work hours,” Anders jokes. “It is not very professional.”

“Then what about after work hours?”

“Are you drunk?”

“No.”

 

It is flattering. Hawke is a very attractive person. They seem funny and nice. Also, they seem like a troublemaker, like their friend had commented before. 

“So, does that mean I won’t get a kiss that’ll heal all my problems?”

Hawke’s voice sounds genuinely sad. Perhaps they really believe that a kiss would solve their problems. Anders smiles and presses a light, soft kiss to Hawke’s nose.

“If that doesn’t work, you’ll have to call me later to see if something else would,” he tells to Hawke, finding paper and writing his private number on it. “But not on work hours.”

Hawke’s face brightens up considerably, and they laugh a bit.

“Now I have to explain to mother and Bethany and Carver why I have a man’s phone number, but no potatoes,” they then realise, and laugh a bit more. “This is the best Christmas ever.”

 

Anders can’t help but agree a tiny bit.


End file.
